Swim Team Ch. 10 - Finding A Way

Keith and Stanley joined a late lunch with Jake, Paolo, and me. The menu listed so many dishes I had never tried. I asked Keith to order something for me. He did, but I couldn't pronounce it. He said it's like ravioli, but without the over-cooked ground beef. My mouth watered at the aroma of sauce, and broth rising to my face. The flavors were so rich with creamy white cheese stuffed in each pasta square. I could have eaten a whole other plate.

The bill was enormous. I couldn't imagine spending so much on a single meal. My friends and their families took care of me now. How long would that last? I hadn't been home in nearly a week. My dad hadn't responded to a single text through all of this. Maybe he was dating some poor woman, terrifying her rather than me. Still, it was strange to get nothing, nothing at all.

Stanley asked me about the away meet. I told him I probably couldn't go. When he pressed me why I tried to dance around the fact that I simply couldn't afford it.

"You're going to that meet, Bret", Jake said, "Don't worry about it."

"You're, uh, too generous, I can't--."

"Oh, we insist, Mijo," Paolo said.

"No," I said with more force than I intended.

Staring at me, the group went quiet, their gazes bouncing around to one another.

Head lowered, shame and pride battled in my brain.

"I'm not the only one who's going to, uh, have a hard time going," I said.

After another brief pause, Jake said, "How about this? Get the team together and fundraise, and I'll talk to Keith's parents and some other swimmer families to match."

In agreement, Stanley and Keith nodded, verbalizing.

With a shrug, I expressed doubt and apprehension.

"You and the team will have to work for it," Jake added. "It's not a giveaway."

Quietly, I tried to re-establish eye contact with anyone.

Keith put his hand on my shoulder. "The team needs you, buddy."

"And it'll be a blast!" Stanley added.

Finally, I nodded, forcing a smile. "How do we fundraise?" I asked.

"Oh, I have some ideas," Paolo said with a devilish grin.

***

With my thumbs tucked under the elastic of my shorts, shirtless, I said, "I'm not so sure about this."

"It's fine," Stanley said.

"Yeah, Rudder, all the swim teams do this," Keith added, using my establishing team nickname.

Hoses in hand, both hunched over blue plastic buckets, filling them with water, suds accumulating at the surface. I scanned the empty driveway in between the road's asphalt and the closed gay bar that was donating the space and water. In return, they only requested we fundraise during their operating hours, selling Jello-shots. That didn't sound legal, but the Dads assured us that it was cool if we were only serving the alcohol.

Finally, I pulled my shorts to my ankles, only a tiny speedo and flip-flips covering my skin. Michael, the Mormon, continued to wear his shorts but agreed to go topless.

Lotion in hand, I pressed a dollop of sunscreen into my palm, rubbed my hands together, and spread the stark white cream over the whole of Keith's back while Stanley helped me with the same. I was very thorough, going at least an inch below the edge of his drawstring and leg elastics.

"Need any?" I asked, my gaze targeting Michael.

Avoiding my eyes, he meekly answered, "No."

"Are you wearing some?" I asked.

He waved his head.

"Come on; you need some at least."

He shrugged and walked toward me. From my hands, he snapped the bottle of sunscreen.

Initially, that put me off, but he didn't mean it. He's just anxious and uncomfortable, at least that's what I told myself. The sunscreen blotched over his shoulders, chest, stomach, legs, feet, and neck. He was trying and failing to reach each part of his back, but stubbornly refused to ask for help.

"Here," I said, offering my hand toward the sunscreen bottle, "I'll get that spot."

Michael plops the bottle in my palm as if defeated, as if he'd conceded something far greater.

Over the spot, I rubbed in a generous helping of lotion and spread some particularly poorly applied lotion over his sides, shoulder, and neck. I saw him turn his head to look at me with suspicion. Then I snuck a dab on each of his ears.

He lunged away, patting his ears, studying the substance on his fingers as if checking for blood.

"Rub that in, Michael," I said. "Don't want to burn those cute little ears."

He looked away again, his face flushing red under the cloudless, searing sky.

Keith waved at people driving past, pointing to the very nice-looking signs Paolo made for the carwash. In sneakers, he bounced around, yelling, "Your car's dirty!" "Car Wash here!" "Support your local swim team!" His perfect swimmer's physique and hairless skin, 95% exposed. He seized the attention of onlookers and brought in our first customer.

It was hard not to admire Stanley's confidence and commitment, too. He wore a tight, stylish white suit. The contrast with his beautiful skin was envy-inducing. Exhibitionist that he was, each car occupant got a show, his suit partially see-through when wet. He'd rub his crotch and ass against the front side windows; we laughed, Michael pretended to ignore.

Pairs of men sat in the front of most vehicles. I asked Stanley why that was, and he said it's because his Dads thought we'd do best near the gayborhood. The 'gayborhood.' I'd never heard that word before, but understood immediately.

During a lull in business, Keith sprayed the cold water from the hose at unsuspecting teammates. The short, muscular guy who swam in my lane, Cody, shrieked when Keith got him.

A customer rolled down his passenger window and called out to me, "Hey sweetie, will y'all be around tonight?"

"Mm-hm," I nodded. "Almost, uh, all of us will be."

"The one near the street?" the guy asked, pointing in Keith's direction.

I smirk, "Yes, sir."

"Hot," he said, grinning. "See you there."

Over at Michael, I shift my gaze. "What about you, Mike?"

"It's Michael," he said.

"Are you coming to sell shots tonight, Michael?"

He shrugged with a bit of an eye roll.

"Why not?"

"Too late, early church," he answered, stringing more words together than I'd ever heard.

"How, uh, about, I, uh, make sure they don't, uh, keep you too late, and then, uh, go to church with you?"

He lit up, "Really?"

"How early are we, uh, talking?" I asked.

"9:15"

"Ok, yeah, sure," I answered.

I got his address. His parents wouldn't allow him his own phone. So he gave me his house number.

***

"Home by 11," Michael said as he slid into the backseat of Stanley's Benz next to me.

Stanley rolled his eyes at me through the rearview. He'd told me to give up on Michael. I wasn't sure how we'd bring him home so early.

"Do you think Jake or Paolo could drive us back?" I asked.

"Us?" Stanley glared at me.

"Yeah, I promised, uh, I'd get him home on time, you know, if, uh, if he'd come."

Stanley blew raspberries. Keith slapped him on the shoulder with the top of his fingers, throwing him a look.

"Very well," Stanley said. "I'll text Jake and see."

We showed up to an empty parking lot, Stanley's trunk full of coolers, each cooler packed with ice and jello shots; red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple.

It was nine before a good number of bodies occupied seats. Since we arrived, one of three individuals bought seven shots before anybody else had one, stuffing ones and fives into our suits. The bartender asked us to cut him off. Michael followed me around like an innocent and shy puppy.

"You two together?" a table asked after they agreed to buy a round for their party.

"No, no," I forced a laugh, thankful the poor lighting likely hid both our red faces. "We do swim on the, uh, we swim together, though."

"No surprise, I suppose," he said, cupping the front of my suit. "No boys need apply," he added, flashing me a smirk and giving a wink.

My body went tight, stupefied.

"Uh," I said, the non-word protracting out of my throat.

The group snickered.

Eyes vacant, I robotically traveled to the next group. They waved us away, still finishing their previous jello cups.

"You ok," Stanley asked as he refreshed his tray.

"I, uh, yeah, I'm fine," I responded.

"They touched him," Michael told Stanley.

"That true?" Stanley asked.

"It's fine," I said.

"Um, no, no, it's not," Stanley said. "Did they ask if they could?"

I lowered my head.

Stanley continued, "Jake will be here in ten minutes. I'll have him take you both home right away."

"But Stan--" I tried.

"Keith, Aaron, Cody, Dan, and I got this," Stanley interrupted. "You two go home. Thanks for helping at the carwash."

He gave me a long, tight hug, ignoring Michael.

***

Jake showed up. He chatted with Stanley briefly, and he escorted us into his SUV.

Michael said nothing save a handful of yeses and nos.

He was so quiet; it pained me. I started to regret our arrangement about church tomorrow.

I didn't know what to expect. My parents aren't religious. I assume they are Catholic, but I didn't know.

Jake and I spoke back and forth the rest of the way, employing heavy euphemisms.

Was Michael as innocent as he appeared? Something about his virgin boy-next-door thing rushed my body with excitement. I looked over at him. He stared out the window, head motionless, the streetlights and shop signs flashing their glow across his face. It wasn't just the innocence. He had handsome, boyish looks with a toned body. Perhaps not as showy as Keith, but just as alluring to me. I'd persuaded him to come to a filthy bar. I'm pretty sure alcohol is a huge no-no in his church. Where was his line?

Jake dropped Michael off in front of his house. I said I'd meet him tomorrow and waved. Michael flashed his first smile that day, waving back.

I took shotgun next to Jake, grinning at him as I sat.

"Quite the talker, huh?" Jake said, smirking.

"Yeah," I said. "Couldn't get him to shut up."

We both laughed. Guilt stung a bit. I knew next to nothing about Michael, but hoped his home life was at least better than mine. If his house was any tell, it was better, but not by much.

Jake and I sat on the glossy white couch at his and Paolo's loft. He concocted drinks in the kitchen, handing me a tumbler with orange juice and red resting on the bottom of the glass.

I study it. "This, uh, Mimo, Mimo--"

"Mimoso? No," Jake said, gleefully grinning. "A Tequila Sunrise, my favorite."

Glass to my lips, I take a sip.

"It's good," I said, still studying it. "What's that, uh, that, uh, flavor?" I asked, then smacked my lips.

"That's probably the tequila. It's, um, it's very distinct," Jake answered.

Over at Jake, I turned my eyes, ogling him. He was so sexy. If he were my husband, I don't think I'd want to share. Still, I suppose Paolo had appetites that Jake wasn't equipped to feed. A dip of sorrow hit my heart. Who of them wanted their relationship open? Was it mutual?

I tried not to think about it. If I did, I knew I'd ask. I wasn't convinced I wanted to know.

"What shows do you like to watch?" Jake asked.

"Uh," I stammered. I didn't watch any TV.

"It's ok; it's so asocial. We can just talk." He put a hand on my knee, then withdrew it.

"Paolo and I have enjoyed having you here. Stay as long as you like."

"Jake, wow, uh, that's, uh, very--."

"Say nothing of it."

Another sip of tequila sunrise washes down my throat.

"How is school going?" Jake asked.

"Ok, I guess," I answered, shrugging. "I'm not failing."

He grinned at me.

"You were learning a lot about yourself last time we spoke... figuring things out and whatnot. How goes that?"

"Well, uh, good, I think. Last weekend with Paolo, uh, that was new."

"That's right; you said that. That's quite a milestone. You feeling ok about it?"

"You know what? Uh, yeah, I feel better than, uh, better than I thought I would." I answered.

"How did you think you'd feel?"

"Oh, I don't know, uh, like maybe it'd be weird or, uh, awkward or something, I guess."

"Good, glad you don't feel awkward," Jake said. "Paolo and I are pretty easygoing."

"Yeah, you both are. I wish, uh, like, uh, more adults were like that, you know?"

Jake snickered a little, finishing his drink.

He asked me if I'd like another. I declined.

We continued to chat. Jake asked me questions as usual, but I got in a few questions, too. He was open about Stanley and him, sex about once a week; Paolo and him less than once a month. That surprised me, but he chalked it up to a marriage's ebb and flow. Paolo was a versatile bottom, Jake, versatile top. Neither one of them was able to meet their individual needs. Relieved the open marriage was mutually copasetic, I asked Jake about other men.

"Oh, there's one now and again, but it's very casual," he explained. "Sometimes, I don't even learn their name. Especially if I go to the bathhouse."

"The bathhouse?" I asked, curious.

"Yeah, it's a shitty dark building where gay men go for quick hookups," Jake answered. "But I mean, I guess some people work out there, there are weights, a small pool, and steam room."

My cock jerked. A steam room filled with sweating men relaxing after a hard workout.

"That sounds hot," I said; there but turned red.

He smiled. "It can be. I'll take you some time. Haven't been in a few months since, you know, things with Stanley and I started."

"What's it like there?" I asked.

"Like the place, or the guys?"

I answered, "Both, I guess."

Jake described small rooms for privacy, but everyone could hear. Men stood in towels, looking for someone with whom to pair up. They swam naked, soaked in the jacuzzi, jerked off, and blew each other in the steam room and sauna.

My engorging dick bent painfully down against my tight suit. I hadn't changed since the bar.

"That looks painful," Jake said.

I looked up to see his eyes affixed to the bulge in my crotch.

"Clothing's optional," he suggested. "Paolo and I usually are naked when we visit the loft."

"Really?" I asked, but knew the answer.

Jake nodded. "If you don't mind, I'll do the same."

"Your house," I said, then removed my shirt, followed by my shorts. My dick sprung out of my suit when I pulled them to my knees.

"Now, I bet that feels better," Jake said, looking at my shaft.

I smiled widely.

Jake finished his second drink and stripped down, too. He was ripped. I could see every muscle in his shoulders, arms, chest, stomach, and legs. Maybe it was the tequila, but he was quite the hunk. If things kept on their current trajectory, I was going to experience another first. Again, he offered me a drink as he went to mix his third; I said yes this time.

Balls swaying, he returned with a drink in each hand and a warm, toothy grin.

"Bret, I hope you know how sexy you are," Jake said.

I had to look away. My face raged with sudden heat. Jake's shaft lengthened and grazed up the side of his leg as we continued to flirt.

Jake extended his hand towards my face, cupping the back of my head. He pulled me into a passionate kiss, the light caress of his other hand traveling up my inner thigh.

When he reached my sack, he followed my shaft up to the end, our kiss becoming more eager. Dipping his thumb into my stream of pre-cum, he pulled a few inches from my face, our eyes locked. He spread the shimmering viscous liquid over both his lips, sampling them with his tongue, then returning to my lips. I shuddered, my fingers weaved through his thick red hair. From my lips, he broke again, gliding his tongue behind my ear, kissing my neck, pressing his teeth over the bridge between my neck and shoulder. His hands passed gently over my sides and stomach, down to my legs, palming my ass with a squeeze. I wanted him so badly, wanted him to be my first, first to enter me, first to cum inside me.

Jake slid off the side of the couch and, as though I were a mere leaf, lifted me, my knees draped over one bulging arm, my shoulders resting against the other. I looked up at him as he scaled the stairs to the loft bedroom. He met my gaze and gave me another kiss. How would it feel? Would I like it? Would it hurt a lot? I felt so safe with Jake. If I could enjoy it, I'd enjoy it with him.

With thoughtful gentleness, he laid me on the mattress, crawling up from the bed's foot to join me. On all fours, he hovered above me, bending down for another kiss. I wrapped my arms around him, my hands exploring the grooving musculature of his back. He lowered slowly onto me, his weight pressing me deeper into the memory foam, rubbing our cocks together, pre-cum mixing and spreading. Again, he lifted his body and crawled lower, making out with each nipple, nibbling on my sides, licking my 'V' with teasingly slow motions. Every touch aroused me. I squealed with a surprised moan when his warm mouth suckled at one of my balls, then the other. My hips bucked, breathing uneven. From the base of my shaft, his wet tongue licked the full length of my cock, milking the honey from my slit, then back up my stomach, between my pecks, and to my face.

"You ok?" he asked me.

"Yes, please don't stop," I answered, lifting to his lips.

He erupted with a beaming smile, descended my body again, coaxing me to bend my knees and fold them back to my chest. My ass lifted to his face, my cock an inch from my chin. He grazed his flattened tongue between my cheeks. My jaw quivered. I licked my lips, releasing a contented sigh. Dense nerve endings electrified when his wet mouth licked over my hole. I moaned. His mouth popped with suction over the quivering ring, tongue wedging deeper. I slid my palms over my nipples and abs, resisting the temptation to touch my cock.

"Jake, please," I said.

He stopped immediately, his head rising above the valley between my legs, lips puffy, a smirk on his face.

"Can I fuck you?" he asked.

"God, I thought you'd never ask, yes. Fuck me, but, uh, be gentle," I said.

"Always," Jake said, his expression soft, reassuring. "Your first time?"

I nodded my head.

From under the bed, he retrieved a bottle of lube. "Condom?" he asked.

"I think, uh, I'm supposed to, uh, say yes," I paused, my eyes darting back and forth around the room, thinking. "But I want to, uh, feel you, not, uh, a condom."

Jake nodded once. Lifting my ass from the small of my back, he squeezed a lavish amount of cool lube. My hole tightened. Tossing the bottle aside, he rubbed my slick virgin ring with a finger, circling, increasing the pressure on the center. I gasped, my teeth gritting.

"You ok?" he asked.

"I don't know; it hurts," I said.

"Yeah, it will hurt," he cocked his head to one side. "I have something that could help you relax."

"Drugs?"

"No, no," Jake said. "You can get this over the counter, but it's for something else, but it's not a controlled substance or anything."

I pondered for a moment, studying his face, considering my virginity, the pain.

"You don't have to," Jake said. "It's just an option."

"Yeah," I said.

"Yeah, what?"

"I want to try that thing, the, uh--."

"Poppers," he said. "They're called poppers."

Jake lept off the bed like he was clearing a track hurdle, returning with a small brown plastic bottle. "Here, I'll show you."

One finger closed a nostril, the opened vial over to the other, he inhaled fast and deep. Eyes wide, he shivered. I extended my hand; he gave it over. Then, with my stomach flexed, I lifted my face enough to mimic Jake without spilling.

"Jesus Christ," I yelled, pulling my forearm to my nose and rubbing its skin under my nostrils.

"Yeah, doesn't smell great," Jake said.

The room went hazy, a blurred halo growing from the edges of my vision toward the center. Muscles I hadn't consciously tensed, suddenly relaxed.

"How's that feel?" Jake asked.

"Incredible," I said with a comically wide grin. "Try again, uh, try to, uh--."